The Killing Joke
by tediz-leader
Summary: 2P nations are believed to just be dark opposites of the regular nations. 2P England thinks otherwise and decides to prove it by attempting to drive Arthur insane as proof that there is something buried within every nation waiting for the right moment to snap as it did with the 2P nations. After all, the parallel nations are what they'll eventually become once they finally snap...


_(A/N): I wrote this one day when I was feeling rather irritated and upset, so apologies for the dark themes and content. Also, Guadalupe is my interpretation of Mexico, personal headcanons about Mexico's past, as well as my interpretations of the 2P nations since there's no one true way to show them off, really. And apologies in advance; it's been a long time since I've been in this fandom. And on the subject of the 2P nations, in this fic, the basic backstory is that a portal had opened up from some experiments done in the 2P dimension that led them to cross over to the 'normal' dimension. Because of this, they have been spreading chaos and crime like typical villains/bad guys. Many nations have brought it upon themselves to stop and capture them so they don't cause mayhem while others are trying to find a way to send them back._

 _Warning: this is a parody of sorts to the famous comic_ The Killing Joke _from Batman. This means there will be violence as well as some rather disturbing imagery/actions that will happen here._

 _Anyways, I hope you enjoy this fic. I enjoyed writing it._

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but the interpretation of Mexico._

 _Last thing! The phrase Mexico says later on is basically "And then there's this asshole." Thank you and enjoy!_

* * *

It was another rainy day in Crowthorne, and Matthew dreaded arriving at the Broadmoor Hospital. It would mean that he'd have to leave the nice, dry warmth of the car and endure the wet, cold, English weather for the longest seconds of his life. Arriving at the hospital, Canada sighed and exited the car with Arthur and made their way inside the brick building. The 2P nations had been rather troublesome as of late, some of which had to be locked up for the safety of both the humans and themselves. Just recently they had to subdue the parallel Scotland, who had destroyed a good chunk of the west side of Glasgow before Alistair and a few others helped subdue him. Only five people had died, but to the Canadian it was five people too many. Matthew followed Arthur down the white, sterile hallway, seemingly unfazed when Allen slammed against the door of his room as he was too eager to speak with England's counterpart to even glance at the violent American counterpart. He heard the brunet growl, probably irritated that he wasn't given attention or that his scare tactic had been wasted. Alfred had a thing about being ignored too, but the blonde wasn't as violent. They passed his own counterpart's holding cell, almost wanting to glance over and see a pair of eyes almost like his own that held violence and a thirst for blood behind them. He stopped himself before he could, passing his cell by without so much as a noise from Matthieu. As they neared what was supposed to be Oliver's holding cell, Canada almost ran into Arthur when the Brit had been stopped by one of the security guards on duty. He merely walked around him, ignoring their conversation and flashing his ID and permit to the other guard before he was let inside the cell. The sound of playing cards being shuffled and arranged echoed throughout the room, and Matthew watched as gloved hands set the deck up for a round of solitaire.

"So there are these two _strozzos_ in a lunatic asylum..." Luciano started, not taking his eyes off the cards and missing the shocked and angry look in the blonde's eyes. "And they decide one night that they're tired of living in an asylum..." He continued, placing a seven of hearts on top of an eight of spades before looking up. "Much like Oliver was tired of living here-" His mocking was cut short when Matthew's hand gripped his throat tightly. The Italian choked, desperately grasping at his pale hand as the Canadian pulled him closer.

"Where is he?" Matthew snarled, glaring into the other's panicked magenta eyes. "You better tell me right now, or so help me God I'm gonna-"

"That's enough!"Arthur suddenly screeched from the doorway, giving Matthew a hard stare as the officers rushed in and pried Luciano out of the Canadian's hands. "You know the laws regarding the mistreatment of inmates as well as I do!" Arthur continued to scold despite the glare Canada gave him. "If you hadn't let go when you did..."

"Kirkland." Matthew ground out, surprising the Brit. "If you're so concerned about it, then _you_ can take care of the parallel Italy." He then turned his attention to the aforementioned nation, who was rubbing his neck and gasping for air. The brunet looked up, truly fearful as he had always thought this Canada was shy and quiet. "Now... I'm going to ask you nicely just one more time... _WHERE IS HE?!"_

* * *

"'Ey! There you are!" A jovial voice called. The man was in his late forties, the first few white hairs were sprinkled randomly in his brown hair, and his eyes seemed as charismatic as his smile. After all, the man was a salesman and an entertainer. He adjusted his coat, hoping they could negotiate before the weather turned sour on the small coastline. "Have you had a chance to inspect the property and decide if it's what you're looking for?" He asked politely. Oliver let his gaze linger on the property for just a while longer, sipping on the tea he had bought at a local coffee shop. Swallowing the warm liquid, he licked his upper lip, enjoying the cranberry hints and the sweetness of the honey he had requested for it. He cleared his throat behind his hand as he leaned on his cane and gazed up at the rusted Ferris wheel.

"Well, it's quite garish, ugly, and derelicts have used it as a haven to shoot up or even use it as a toilet. The rides are rusted and dilapidated to the point of being lethal, and could easily maim or even kill innocent children..." He mused. The man's shoulders fell sadly, and he frowned over the Englishman's statement. Not that he blamed him; he was right about the condition of the park.

"Oh... So you don't like it?" He asked meekly, ready to face rejection and apologize for wasting the man's time.

"Don't like it?" Oliver scoffed as he turned and gave the man a happy, almost manic grin. "I'm practically _crazy_ for it, chap!" The man blinked, rather surprised that this client was still interested even after all the bad things he listed about it. The brunet cleared his throat before leading him into the abandoned theme park's interior that lied just on the outskirts of Coney Island.

"You... you really want to buy it?" The man asked, almost unable to contain his excitement as they passed by an old gift shop with faded posters on its outer walls that depicted rides, food enjoyed by the typical nuclear family, and mascots that once entertained there. "And the price I mentioned isn't too steep, is it? Because we can negotiate if you want..." He offered. Oliver waved it off as he took another sip.

"Too steep? Good sir, as I look at it I'm making a killing..." He mused, arching a brow at a certain poster depicting people shooting targets for prizes. "And anyway, money isn't really a problem. I've got quite a sum from my, Heh, _old jobs_..." He added, making sure not to let his smile falter when he was bombarded with memories of his pirating days... The days where he would attack Andres's ships and stealing the gold the Spaniard had also stolen from the little nation of Mexico he still had the gall to call his daughter even after killing her father and abusing her. She was the fifth child he had 'adopted' and the second child he had stolen after Venezuela. 2P Spain was a ruthless man; he wouldn't be surprised if the Spain Arthur had to deal with was just as bad...

"You know, I'm positive you won't regret this purchase." The human stated, snapping Oliver out of his memories. The strawberry blonde glanced over at him, watching the man sit down on an elephant that was balanced on a large spring. "This place isn't _that_ dilapidated. Some of these rides are still pretty sturdy. I mean, I originally bought it so I could make another haunted maze attraction... already have three of them back in Vegas..." He mused. "But business over there is just too much for me to handle on top of trying to build this one... But really; this could be one _hell_ of a carnival." He assured the other. Oliver couldn't help but admire and respect the man's enthusiasm and charm.

"I believe you are quite right, chap." Oliver stated, giving the man his friendliest smile as he extended his hand. "Thanks to your amazing salesmanship and that silver tongue of yours, you've completely _sold_ me on the place." He laughed. The man smiled back, taking the offered hand and not noticing the band with a needle that was on the other's palm before it pricked him. Oliver tightened his grip, making sure the serum was fully injected before pulling his hand away. "Naturally, I won't be paying you anything. My Russian colleague actually persuaded your partner to sign over the documents a little over an hour ago. Amazing what you can do with a lead pipe..." The Englishman mused, undoing the band on his hand before tossing it into the nearby broken carousel. "The property's already mine." He practically purred, ignoring the violent shivers the man was giving off from the effects of the drug. "Are you alright with that?" He asked mockingly, smiling wider as the man fell to the ground and crunched the dead leaves under him. "I'll take your silence as a yes. Oh, if only you were alive to see the improvements I have in plan for this place... You would've been absolutely speechless!" He gushed, stopping and blinking as he frowned. "... I just made a pun, didn't I?" He asked himself. "That was terribly rude of me, considering the state you're in, chap..." He mused, leaning over the little elephant to look over the dead man. "I truly apologize for that... Well!" Oliver clapped, standing straight and drinking the last of his tea before tossing it behind him. "I must be off, my good sir! Equipment to hire, workers who'll just be too happy to help me out..." He rambled, turning around and beginning to walk away. "And then of course, I've yet to secure the _main attraction_..." He purred darkly. "You should stick around... and later, I'll make you something delicious... brunets always _were_ better for muffins..."

* * *

Mexico walked into the study, balancing a can of Coca Cola in one hand and a plate of chicken and rice in the other. She glanced over at Canada, frowning slightly as her eldest North American sibling continued to furiously type on his computer. He had gone straight to the study since he'd returned from his visit to England, having stayed there since seven in the morning. He'd only leave to use the bathroom and to make himself a quick breakfast, making her worry. Guadalupe had heard from Arthur when she and Alfred had picked him and Matthew up from the airport that 2P England had escaped and had decided to regroup in New York so the elder twin could try to figure out where he went to. Alfred seemed to have gotten stuck with the easier job, which was to calm Arthur down so he wouldn't yell at Matthew even more than he probably did on the plain and back in the Brit's home. Mexico sighed quietly, cursing her bad luck that this all just had to happen on the week she decided to visit America in New York while staying at the apartment he'd bought her as a gift a decade ago for whenever she wanted to take a vacation and watch Broadway with him. She placed the plate and the soda on a nearby table before putting the silverware close and looking back up.

"I brought you some dinner, Matt." Guadalupe said, tucking a brown curl behind her ear. "Did you want anything else from the kitchen? Or any help at all?" She offered. Matthew stopped typing, sighing as he rolled his shoulders. He took one final glance at his computer, as if the surveillance footage he'd hacked and watched for the last two hours would give him the answer to where Oliver went.

"No, I'm fine..." He muttered, standing up and undoing his coat. Mexico walked over, helping him pull it off before draping it on the back of his chest. "I've been trying to figure out where he went... what he's planning. It's almost impossible, you know?" He frowned. "I don't know him... neither does Arthur. It's crazy; you and I understand and know how our counterparts think. Hell, even Alfred can understand _Allen_." He scoffed. "But Oliver's such a wild card..." Matthew grumbled, staring back at the monitor. "How can two people hate each other so much without knowing each other?" He suddenly asked, catching Guadalupe off guard when he slouched back into his chair and rubbed his forehead. She never saw him like this, not even when he and Alfred had that feud all those centuries ago.

"I ask myself that all the time..." She muttered, staring at the photo on the wall that had her and her brothers in the pictures with their 'parents.' Canada looked over, furrowing his brows when he caught her staring at the photo and Spain in particular.

"I'm sorry... I forgot you and your father..." He muttered, looking down.

"It's fine... I forgave him a long time ago..." She assured him. "We've talked... it's fine now... totally fine..."

* * *

"I hate this..." Arthur sighed, rubbing his eyes as he leaned back into the couch. "I don't blame your brother for his actions, though I never expected him to act in such a manner... From you, I'd understand since you usually let your emotions show, but not him. He's usually the calmer one." He muttered. "But like I said; I don't blame him. Whenever we find and jail our counterparts, we all think the same thing; we want them to be contained there. Hope that they don't escape. But they do, and we all sit around and pray that they don't do anything too awful before we find them and capture them again. It drives me mad, it does..." He grumbled, taking the offered cup of tea Alfred handed to him. He arched a brow at the mug with a care bear on it before he took a sip, humming in appreciation as the peppermint soothed his throat. "Thank you, Alfred." He said, smiling up at his former colony.

"Oh, Dad..." Alfred chided playfully as he took a gulp of his mug of hot cocoa. "Can you leave all the 'work' and stress out of 'Hot Drinky Time' and relax? And I take offense to that comment." He teased, arching a brow in amusement as he watched the other down his tea. "And you doubted my choices in tea, old man." He snorted. Arthur clicked his tongue at him, unable to stop the amused smile from creeping on his face.

"Oh hush, you." He scolded lightly. "And I suppose you're right...That was rather harsh on my part... Sorry..." He stated before setting his mug down and pulling up a photo from the pile that was on the coffee table. "It's been a while since we've had a, eh... some _tea_ time together... though it's also a bit of scrap booking time as well..." He muttered, refusing to call it 'Hot Drinky Time' and ignoring Alfred's pout because of said reason. "I never would peg you as the type to enjoy this kind of thing." He mused, putting some double-stick tape to the back of a photo of himself and France before sticking it onto a piece of blue scrapbook paper that was close by. "Alfred, be a dear and hand me one of those Union Jack stickers so I can cover up the frog's face with it." He asked, motioning towards the sticker pile. America laughed loudly, having to put his mug down in fear of spilling his drink.

"Oh come on, Dad... why you gotta hate on Francis?" He argued despite handing him the sticker page. He watched the Brit pull off the sticker before placing it down on the French nation's face and let out an appreciative hum. "Actually, I think the picture looks better that way." He joked, making Arthur snort as he unlocked the 3-ring holder and inserted the page. Finishing up the scrapbook, he placed the items away while Alfred took the empty mug to the sink after handing him the sticker pages. "Oh! I also found that other scrapbook. You know; the one from 1987?" He mused. "Apparently, it was in the closet in the guest bedroom. You really shouldn't misplace shit in my New York home." He teased. "I could make a filing system for our scrapbooks if you want. Model it like this one they had at a library I used to work at..." He muttered in thought. "Maybe get a small bookshelf dedicated to it and we can label the years on the spines... I mean, I already know I'm going to need special scrapbooks for that box of photographs that we all take when we go to Disneyland with the other nations that have time to accompany us. I should totally have a section dedicated to the Splash Mountain photos!" Alfred laughed as he walked back over. Arthur made a hum to indicate he was still listening despite looking through the pages already completed in the scrapbook. He stopped at one particular page, smiling at the image of Alfred, Matthew, and Guadalupe standing in front of a fountain hugging each other and facing the camera. It was funny in a way; there was something about the three of them that echoed some things about their parents, like Matthew's hairstyle was similar to Francis's, Alfred jaw line much like his own, and Guadalupe's eyes that looked green when light hit them at just the right angle. It made him a little sad; the North American siblings still had a healthy, strong relationship despite their histories and conflicts while he, Francis, and Antonio still had some unresolved issues with each other. He heard a knock on the door, but continued to look at the picture as he tried to figure out where they were then. "That must be Gil!" Alfred announced happily. "I promised to take him out to this really nice bar later... probably wants to hang out for a bit..." He mused. "And put the scrapbook down, Dad!" He scolded playfully. "We got company, you know!"

"I will once I remember when and where this photo was taken." Arthur argued back, frowning when he still couldn't remember and closed the door before setting it on the couch next to him. Alfred paused at the door, hand resting on the knob as he glanced back.

"The one with the fountain? That was Chicago back in 1985. When the Bears won the Super Bowl. Romano was there with us, too since that's secretly his favorite football team... We took different sets; the one with Lovino is in another scrapbook." He stated before turning back to the door. Alfred opened it, expecting the Prussian albino to glare at him for taking so damn long to answer (even though it was only a minute at most that he left him waiting out there). Alfred's stomach pooled with dread when he found himself locked in Oliver's gaze as his father's counterpart gave him a smile that was anything but friendly and raised a gun. The blonde's eyes widened, feeling his heart skip a beat when the gun clicked. He felt the bullet pierce through his lower abdomen, and he hated how much of a kick the .44 Magnum had at the moment. He couldn't hear Arthur's shocked screams over his own pained scream as he practically flew back and shattered the glass coffee table with his weight when he landed on it. Alfred gasped for air, stifling his whimpers of agony as he pressed his hands against the bullet wound. Arthur knelt down beside him, uncaring of the glass shards under his knees as he framed his former colony's face with his hands.

"Alfred... Alfred, focus on me." He stated as calmly as he could, wiping a tear off America's cheek as the blonde gritted his teeth and tried to fight through the pain. He knew Alfred had suffered bullet wounds before during wars, but it had been so long since the blonde's been in any such battles. It took him back to 1944, where he and Alfred stormed Normandy Beach alongside the human soldiers and when they took cover under a Czech hedgehog so he could hold the American still while the medic pulled the bullet out of his thigh.

"Oh, don't worry." Oliver's voice mocked behind Arthur. "It's a psychological complaint rather common among ex-colonies who worked in libraries... You see, he thinks he's a Coffee Table Edition..." He teased heartlessly, walking around them and stopping at the American's liquor cabinet. He opened up the bottle of Buffalo Trace, pouring some in a small glass that was nearby. "Mind _you_ , I can't say much for the volume's _condition_. I mean, there's a hole in the _jacket_ and the _spine_ appears to be damaged." He mused, lips curling into a vicious grin as he heard Arthur growl at him.

"You... you bloody _bastard_! my son, I'll..." England grunted painfully when a fist connected with his stomach; he was so focused on Alfred and Oliver that he failed to notice that the other England had brought 2P Russia with him. He coughed, doubling over and unable to give the brown-haired Russian a glare.

"Frankly, Alfred won't be walking off the shelves any time soon in _that_ kind of state. Well, him walking anywhere would be preposterous for a while... Then again, that's always the problem when it's not a _hardback_..." Oliver snorted before taking a swig. He hummed as the smooth whiskey warmed his throat, licking his lips as he listened to Viktor win the one-sided fight against Arthur. "These literary discussions can be so _dry_ sometimes..." He sighed, taking another drink before studying the color of the liquor. "When you're done, you know where to take him. And be careful." He added in a threatening voice when he heard Arthur's rib crack. "He's the top billing, after all." Oliver watched with a bored expression as Viktor hauled Arthur's unconscious body over his shoulder and walk out of the house, waiting until he walked past the front door before setting the glass down on an adjacent table that served as a magazine holder. He knelt down beside Alfred's shaking form, making sure to push some of the glass shards aside before doing so.

"W... what..." Alfred murmured weakly, looking up at him with a panicked expression. Oliver clicked his tongue in disappointment as he pulled out his phone.

"Such a shame you'll miss his big debut, Alfred..." He sighed mockingly. "But then again, our venue wasn't really built with the disabled in mind." Oliver muttered as he opened the camera app. Alfred coughed, whimpering softly and shivering when the strawberry blonde caressed his face in an almost comforting gesture. " _Shhh_... You're okay... But no worries, my dear; I'll take a few snapshots to remind him of you." He stated cheerfully, setting the phone down as he undid the American's tie. He began to hum to himself as he started to unbutton Alfred's shirt, which was ironed for once, when the other's weakened voice made him look back up.

"W... why... are you... doing this?" The blonde asked, grunting in pain after each word. He whimpered when Oliver grabbed one of his wrists and pried it away from his bullet wound.

"To prove a point, _Alfie_." Oliver answered darkly, pulling off the American's bomber jacket one sleeve at a time. "Here's to crime, _love_." He purred, holding the phone back up while ripping open Alfred's shirt.

* * *

Matthew stared at the playing card in his hand, almost as if it would hold all the answers. Like it knew where Arthur was, where Oliver was, why Alfred was...

"The bullet when through his spine." The doctor stated as he closed the patient folder and placed it on the holding basket by the door to Alfred's room. Though all nations shared a doctor with their world leader, they were hardly ever called in for surgeries since nations were practically immortal and healed rather quickly, especially in times of peace. "I'm afraid his legs are completely useless..." The older man continued despite Canada's jaw locking up. "Though he'll heal up, he'll be stuck in a chair for several years..." Matthew thanked him, dismissing him before turning to the police officer that had been called to the crime scene and sworn to secrecy by some of the high level agents swarming the hospital floor they were on. He gave his attention to the man, trying not to show how angry he was so the man wouldn't become even more nervous than he already was. The officer cleared his throat.

"The white-haired man in the hallway, Prussia, I believe?" He started nervously before continuing. "Well, he found the victim in a state of undress, but otherwise the place was empty. The individual Arthur Kirkland was..."

"Undress?" Matthew suddenly asked, brows furrowing in concern. The police officer blinked in surprise and swallowed thickly when he saw the anger hidden behind the violet eyes.

"I-I thought they told you... Um... the perpetrator removed his clothing after shooting him. We found a cell phone with no fingerprints on the floor. Everything wiped except text history... a-and it seems whatever photos were sent to the recipient were 'cancelled' after the texts went through." Matthew's frown deepened. "We um... believe that the guy took pictures of eh... of him... Jeez, I'm really, really sorry..." The man fumbled nervously, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand as he shifted his weight. "I thought they told you... it's just... it's sick, ain't it?" He sighed.

"Yes." Canada answered gruffly, crumbling the card in his hand tightly. "Pretty sick. Leave us alone for a moment?" He asked, opening the door before closing it and not letting the officer verbally agree. Matthew let out a long, sad sigh as he let his shoulders relax. He made his way towards the hospital bed, feeling uneasy at the sight before him. Alfred wasn't meant to be confined; the blonde was always running or laughing or even doing some hobby that played to his high energy levels. Seeing him confined to a hospital bed in a state that reminded him just how young his brother truly was just... _hurt_... "Alfred, can you hear me?" He called out softly, reaching out a hand for him. "It's me; Matthew..." He assured the other when dull, blue eyes opened and looked up at him. Alfred reached for the hand the Canadian had extended.

"Matt?" Alfred wondered hoarsely, grasping the hand tightly as his groggy state began to disappear. He suddenly gasped, clinging onto his older twin in a hug people would only see toddlers and children do to their parents when they were deathly afraid of something. "Matt... it was _him_..." He stammered, shivering against the other blonde. "He took Dad... H-He... _Oh God!_ Oh God, I _remember,_ Matt!" He whimpered, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane as he tightened the hug and buried his face into the crook of Matthew's neck.

"Alfred, it's okay..." Canada soothed, rubbing comforting circles into the younger sibling's back as he heard the other begin to sob. "Easy now... You have to take it easy so you can recover-"

 **"No!** No, it's _not_ okay!" Alfred cried, pulling away slightly to look up at his brother. Matthew's heart broke; he'd only seen Alfred cry a total of four times in his life, but this time seemed to hurt even more. "Oliver... h-he's taking it to the limit... You didn't see, Matt..." He shivered again as tears streaked down his face. "You didn't see his _eyes_." He sobbed, biting his lip. Canada pried the American's arms off him as gently as he could, rubbing the forearms in a comforting manner to try and calm him down. "H-he said he wanted to prove a point to us... Said Dad was... his magnum opus..." He let out a shaky sigh, failing to calm his tears. "What's he _doing_ to him, Mattie?" He whimpered, clutching the front of the Canadian's coat in a desperate attempt for an answer. "What's he doing to my dad?"

* * *

Carnival music was the first thing he registered when he came to. The second thing was pain; the counterpart Russia was a heavy hitter, and Arthur had to wonder if Ivan suffered as much pain as he was at the moment when the two exchanged blows. His arms were bare, he realized as he glance down and saw that his coat and dress shirt were removed and leaving him in the sleeveless undershirt he usually wore. His pants were still on, though emptied of everything he carried in them such as his wallet and a Swiss army knife. His boots were gone as well, which stripped him of his second to last resort of the dagger hidden within them.

"Awake yet?" A German voice asked. Arthur groaned, shielding his eyes as a rather bright spotlight shone just above him. "It seems you are... Gut... gut..." The other mused. England blinked, finding Lutz kneeling next to him as he casually swung a heavy collar in his hand.

"... What... what's going on?" Arthur asked, fully awakening when the German clicked the collar onto him. He began to panic and tried sitting up before something shocked him from behind. Lutz stood up, grasping the leash attached to the collar tightly as his brother turned off his tazer.

"That was kind of harsh." He teased, giving Gill a playful sneer when the other remained silent. "Well, come on." He grunted, pulling the leash and forcing Arthur to stand. "You're needed on stage." He mused before walking out of the tent and pulling the Brit along with him. Gill followed behind silently, keeping the tazer on hand just in case.

"What is this? Where-" Arthur choked when Lutz pulled his leash again and almost tripped. The Brit grunted, steadying himself as he was pulled along. He spared a glance at the structure next to him, furrowing his brows in confusion and fear as he gazed upon a rather old but functioning building. "Oh bloody hell... What's going on? I can't be dreaming, can I? I-I was just sitting at..."

"Down." Lutz suddenly growled, wrapping the leash on his hand as he stopped and faced him.

"What?" Arthur asked, gasping as the leash was tugged and he caught himself on his hands when he fell to his knees. He hissed in pain, feeling tiny rocks press into his palms. "Please..." He grunted. "Please tell me what I'm doing here..." He asked, begging for answers as he clawed his hands into the ground. The stabbing rocks weren't as painful anymore, not when his pride had been beaten as badly as it was earlier with Viktor and now with Lutz and Gill leading him like some stray dog. He shivered as a cold wind blew past, making the Brit yearn for his boots and jacket since his toes were practically numb now.

"Doing?" Oliver mused, startling Arthur. "You're doing what _any_ sane man would do, considering the horrible circumstances you have." The blonde forced himself to look up, reeling back onto his knees as he felt disgusted at seeing a tower built of what he could only describe as broken porcelain dolls. All were in varying states of disarray, with some having their perfect curls intact while some had chunks of their faces missing and their beautiful dresses torn or dirtied beyond repair. He shuddered, remembering World War II and the Liberation of Paris... Of the day he had to run through the ruins of an apartment and found dolls in similar states of ruin within the rubble. He had panicked then, worrying over the little girls who may have owned them and if they were still alive. He followed the mountain of dolls up to find his counterpart seated at the top on a large teacup much like the ones in a ride at Disneyland.

"You're going _**mad**_." Oliver and the German siblings stated together. Oliver hummed in a wickedly joyful manner, enjoying Arthur's panicking face.

"You... wait... No... Oh _God_! I-I remember" He whispered fearfully, trembling as rain began to sprinkle down from the sky. He looked back at the strawberry blonde, whose face had taken on a malicious grin that he'd only scene in a dark Alice in Wonderland game.

"Remember? Oh, I wouldn't do that... Remembering is dangerous." Oliver purred, "I personally find the past a rather anxious and treacherous place..." He laughed then, standing up and leaning on the cup's rim. "Memory's so treacherous, Arthur. I mean, one moment you're lost in a field of wildflowers outside the borders of the colony you founded in the New World helping your beloved little child create a crown of flowers... in a carnival of delights with the sweetest aromas of cookies and honeysuckle and the perfect Christmas tree..." His smile suddenly fell, and his tone was more of a growl.

"The next, it leads you to some where you don't want to go..." He continued, watching Lutz pull Arthur to his knees and Gill shoving him forward. "Somewhere dark and cold like hiding in the dark, winter forests from Roman invaders that dare explore Britannia... that place filled with damp, ambiguous shapes of things you'd hoped were forgotten... like the dark cell the Nazis kept France in during the occupation of his land or the swamps your darling little colony got lost in and was almost captured by those Spanish bastards or killed by an alligator." Oliver watched as Arthur was led into what was once a haunted house, complete with ghosts drawn on wooden signposts that had been ruined with graffiti over the years. "Memories can be vile and repulsive brutes... Much like children, if you think about it... Heh..." He chuckled in amusement.

"Alfred... Oh no... Oh no..." Arthur sobbed, letting himself be dragged into the attraction and forced to sit down in the old cart whose red paint had all but chipped away. Lutz sat next to him, keeping a firm grip on the leash as well as the blonde's shoulder. Arthur gave the parallel Germany a weak glare, sighing when 2P Prussia sat on the other side of him. Oliver walked in, making his way to the control panel.

"And yet we can never really live without memories... Our reason is based upon them. Hell, if we can't face them, then we'd be denying reality itself!" Oliver mused, turning on the machine and lighting up the room with rather dim lighting. "Then again... we're not contractually tied down to rationality..." He added, turning on the ride and watching the cart slowly make its way to the door with the demonic face. "No sanity clause is needed whether or not you remember... So when you find yourself stuck in a rather horrible train of thought heading for those places in your past where the screaming is as unbearable as the smell of blood, disease, and rotting or burning flesh; remember that there's always _madness_." He sang in a sickeningly sweet voice. "Madness is the emergency exit and oxygen mask..." He said, watching the cart disappear behind the door. "You can just step outside and close the door on all those horrible, dreadful things... you can lock them away forever." He stated as the door shut with an ominous slam.

* * *

"I'm sorry I called you on such short notice..." Mexico sighed as she rubbed her face with her hands. Spain rubbed her back in a comforting manner, taking a quick glance at the bartender that was still busy with the other patrons. "Just my luck you were going to make a surprise visit, huh?" She mused sadly. Antonio frowned; he hated seeing his daughter so distraught. News of Alfred's attack spread quickly to the other nations, making them take a swift course of action and rounding up any parallel nations that were still on the loose. Spain himself had yet to find his counterpart; he hadn't known of the attack until Guadalupe had called him a couple hours ago.

"It's fine, _mija_." He assured her, giving her a comforting smile when she finally removed her hands from her face. Her dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and tan skin was reminiscent of his own, but he remembered when her hair used to be black and her skin and eyes were darker like her father's... her _real_ father's... The Aztec Empire he stabbed through the heart... "You know I'm always here for you whenever you need me." He stated, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. She gave him a bit of a smile, appreciating the fatherly gesture.

"I know... it's just... I feel rude asking you for help after... you know..." She sighed, keeping a neutral expression as she ordered a dark ale from the barkeep before he asked for a glass of Merlot. "I know we've been talking and hanging out more, but..."

"You know I don't blame you for being angry with me..." Antonio muttered, taking a sip of his wine as she looked back at him. "I killed your father and lied about what happened and how I found you while never letting you know what really happened to the natives... I know _I'd_ be angry if that happened to me..." He sighed. "I was young then... young and high on victory and the spoils of the New World and just so happy to have a little helper that was genuinely nice to me and helped me clean and cook..." He admitted, looking back at her. "You and Lovino are my greatest treasures... and when I figured out that the warrior that had been killing a good chunk of soldiers that were my friends was your father, I... I panicked..." He muttered, looking down as he swirled his glass. "I truly believed that your father was dangerous and you'd be safer with me... I fought him for you... looking back on it now, I realize how foolish and selfish I was to do so. I love you, Guadalupe... you're my daughter and I always tried my best to be a good father..." He stammered quietly, squeezing Mexico's hand when she took his own. "I tried; I really did... I'm sorry, _mija_..." She pulled him into a hug, resting her head on his shoulders as he embraced her tightly.

"I know, _Papi_..." She soothed. "And I've forgiven you... I know why you did what you did, and I know you truly are sorry... And you really were a good father..." She assured him, moving to pull away from the embrace before she found herself staring at the tip of a sword she'd seen her father use centuries ago. She glanced up, frowning and narrowing her eyes at her father's counterpart as Antonio stiffened. " _Y luego viene_ _este_ _wey..."_ She grumbled.

* * *

Arthur shivered violently, covering his eyes as the cart continued to move in the darkness. He felt Lutz pull at his shoulder and collar, whimpering when Gill sighed and grasped him by his hair and forced his head up. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain, gritting his teeth before opening them.

"No fair, Artie." Oliver's voice echoed from the speakers. "You went through half the scares in that ride with your eyes closed and your head down. If I were a lesser man, I'd call you a scaredy cat." He teased. "Besides, you'll miss the lovely little slideshow I worked so very hard to make for you." He added in a mockingly sad voice. The cart went through another door, and Arthur almost jumped when a large screen lit up and showed his counterpart's face. "I know, I know... you're frightened, confused... Who wouldn't be?" Oliver scoffed. "You're in a rather hellish situation. But even though life's a bowl of cherries and this is indeed the pits, always remember this..." His voice echoed as the cart entered the next room, also containing a large video feed of the strawberry blonde.

 _"When the world is full of care and ever headline screams despair," Oliver_ sang, twirling the cane in his hand in a playful, casual manner as he stared at the camera, _"When all is rape, starvation, war, and life is vile... There's a certain thing I do which I shall pass along to you, that's always guaranteed to make me smile. I go loony as a light-bulb, battered bug, simply loony, sometimes foam and chew the rug."_ He continued as Arthur struggled and failed to pull himself out of the Prussian's grasp. _"Mister, life is swell in a padded cell. It'll chase those blues away... You can trade your gloom for a rubber room and injections twice a day!"_ The cart entered another room, but it was devoid of any video feed or even any of the ride's previous props _. "Just go loony like an acid casualty, or a Moonie, or a preacher on TV. When the human race wears a haggard, anxious face, when the bomb hangs overhead. No sir it won't worry you, even when your kid turns blue. You can smile and nod instead! When you're loony, oh you just don't give a fig~"_ Oliver continued, and Arthur grunted painfully when Lutz pulled the leash back to keep him sitting straight while Gill released his hair. Another door opened for the little cart, and a small screen flickered on to the right that showed Oliver's manic face _. "Don't get even, Artie; Get_ _ **mad**_ _~"_ He hissed, lips curling into what the Brit could only describe as a bloodthirsty grin. The lights slowly turned on.

"Wait... wait a minute..." Arthur muttered as he glanced at the enlarged photo of what appeared to be a bloody hand. The blue friendship bracelet on the wrist was all too familiar. "That's..." He rose from his seat, grunting as he was pushed back down. His breath hitched as more pictures came up along the track. "Alfred...? _**ALFRED!**_ " Each picture felt like a stab to his heart as Arthur looked on. The deeper they traveled in, the less clothes Alfred had on in each picture. Arthur trembled with rage as he heard Lutz give out a low whistle at a particular photo of his former colony with his shirt off. The bloodstain under Alfred also grew with each picture, making the Brit wonder and worry just how long he was left lying there while he was stripped naked and held down or turned over for pictures. He let out an anguished cry, unable to handle any more images of the country he had raised and considered a son suffering from the gunshot wound and stripped of his dignity and pride. His heart shattered especially hard when his eyes fell on a zoom in of Alfred's tear-stained face held by the chin by who he could only assume was Oliver. He buried his face in his hands, almost surprised that Lutz and Gill had loosened their grip to let him do such a thing as he sobbed quietly. He didn't even notice the cart slow down into a stop or Oliver standing there waiting for them.

"There you are." Oliver mused, watching the cart come to a complete stop. "Some ghost train eh, chaps?" He teased. Gill stayed silent, exiting the cart and watching Lutz climb out and pull Arthur out. The blonde fell to his knees but didn't make a move to stand up. "Heh.. when you all went in, old Artie didn't look a day over twenty-five. Now, though... Well, that's what a little dose of reality can do for you... Never touched on the stuff much... I find it gets in the way of my denial and hallucinations..." He mused, bending down to get closer to Arthur. "Artie? Mr. Kirkland, you there?" He called sweetly, frowning when he received no answer. "God, how boring..." Oliver scoffed straightening back up and walking away. "The man's practically a little _vegetable_." He sighed, shaking his head. "Put him in the cage. Perhaps he'll be a bit more livelier once he's had a chance to think this situation over..." He commanded, watching over the siblings that began to drag Arthur away. "... To reflect upon life and all its random injustice..."

* * *

Matthew parked his truck just outside the carnival grounds, killing the engine before getting out. He flexed his bandaged hands, grimacing slightly at the light bloodstains where his knuckles were. He'd gone around the worse part of town, demanding answers from any and every criminal that crossed his path. He'd even run into the parallel France, who was currently nursing a broken knee, broken nose, and two broken wrists from the interrogation he'd given him. The Frenchman had no information about Oliver after all, which left him having to go back to the police station when the officer who found his brother before had received an envelope addressed to him. In it was a carnival ticket and a map, and Matthew made sure to prepare himself with a handgun and his trusted hockey stick just in case. He hated rain, even more so since he had to hunt down England and his insane counterpart in it. It reflected his mood, which was as cold and rumbling as the rain and thunder above him. Taking a glance at the carnival lights through the pouring rain, he snorted and shook his head before getting back into the truck. 'Fuck it; I'm driving through there.' He thought as he turned on the engine and began driving towards the direction of the clearly rusty Ferris wheel that had no business working in the state it was in. He set his truck into 4-wheel drive, hurdling through the dirt road and sparse trees towards the old park. The truck broke through the rusted front gate, surprised that it wasn't locked by a chain. He slowed down to a halt, parking it right in front of the parallel England that was standing under an umbrella by a large cage the circus used for their lions.

"Matthew, what a pleasant surprise!" Oliver greeted as Canada got out of the truck. "You're just in time to see your brother's dear ol' _Daddy._ " He teased, gesturing to Arthur's shaking, huddled form in the cage. The Canadian noted the bruises forming on the Brit's arms, as well as the sickly pale color of his skin. "He's this park's main attraction now... the _average man_. With his bloated sense of humanity's importance, club-footed social conscience and withered optimism... But the most repulsive of all are his frail and useless notions of order and sanity. They snap like frail little twigs if too much weight is placed upon them." He mused darkly. "Though how he lives in the harsh and irrational world upholding all these values escapes me... I don't think he really lives very well... I mean, with the fact that human existence, even one as long as semi-immortal as ours, is mad, random, and pointless; one in eight of our kind just crack and go stark raving mad... Like how many of my kind have... But who can blame them? In a world as psychotic as this... Any other response would be **crazy**." He finished, tilting his head as if in thought and awaiting the other's response. Matthew's hair clung to his scalp and the sides of his face; the rain was falling harder now, and the Canadian felt that it would soak through his coat if he stayed out there any longer.

"I've been thinking..." He muttered, never taking his eyes off Oliver even when he spotted Lutz lurking by the cage from the corner of his eyes. "About you... The other parallel nations... Me..." He rambled, licking some drops of rainwater off his lips. Canada suddenly raised his arm up, blocking a blow from 2P Germany before retaliating with a punch of his own to his face and then following up with a harsh kick to the knees and knocking him down. ' _About what's going to happen in this battle between us and whether or not you'll all be sent back to your own dimension...'_ Matthew grunted when he was hit from behind by Gill. He rolled over, evading another hit before grasping the wooden beam and using it to flip the other away from him. He scrambled to his feet, reaching into the truck's open window and pulling out his hockey stick. He blocked another attack, swinging it full force into Lutz's face and knocking him out cold. _'We're all going to wind up killing each other at this rate...' He_ mused more, _'Maybe more 2P nations will survive, maybe my own will... maybe your dimension will open up again... maybe it won't...'_ He blocked and kicked before grasping at the parallel Prussia's silver locks and slamming his face into a wall. He exhaled for a second, moving to the side just in time as an umbrella embedded itself into the wall close to where Gill's blood had stained it before his unconscious body had slid down. Matthew snarled, tackling Oliver to the ground and pressing his bloody hockey stick down the man's throat. Oliver growled, keeping a smug look on his face as he pulled out a lighter from his pocket and burned the Canadian's wrist. As expected, Matthew pulled back and was pushed off before the other got up and escaped into the fun house. Canada pulled himself up, rubbing his burnt wrist and cursing his luck that the lighter just had to miraculously work in the rain. He walked back to the cage, pulling the lock off with the freakish strength he'd inherited just like his brother.

"Arthur?" He called, opening the door and walking in. "Arthur, are you... are you still okay?" He asked, afraid of the other's condition. England let out a shaky sob, uncurling himself as he weakly made his way over towards Canada. Matthew wrapped his arms around him without a second thought, holding the nation as he sobbed.

"Oh God..." Arthur gasped before he cried again. "Oh God, Matthew..."

"It's okay. Let it come." The elder twin soothed before pulling away and taking off his coat to wrap it around the older blonde's shoulders.

"He... he shot _Alfred._ " He whimpered, "Showed me Ph-photographs... Bastard tried to drive me _mad_." England growled once he had calmed down enough as he shivered and slipped his arms into the sleeves. Matthew rubbed his shoulder in a comforting manner.

"The police are on their way; I called them once I had a lead on where you were. I'll stay here with you until they arrive." He said.

"No!" Arthur fought before clearing his throat. "No... I'm okay, Matthew. You have to go after him." He said, setting his jaw. "I want him brought in, and I want him brought in by the book!" He snarled as his emerald eyes lit up with a fire and determination he'd seen many times when he was defending someone or determined to make things right. Matthew nodded.

"I'll do my best." He stated before running towards the funhouse with his hockey stick in hand.

"By the book, Matthew!" England called after him. "We have to show him we're nothing like them! That we'll never fall like they did!" It was the last thing the Canadian heard before the doors to the building slammed shut behind him. Matthew kept a steady pace as he rushed through, glaring at the distorted faces decorating the walls and the warped mirrors showing Oliver's wretched form.

"I see you received the ticket I sent you... I'm glad; I really wanted you to be here, my boy..." Oliver's smug voice echoed through the hall. Matthew ignored it and continued to run. "It doesn't matter if you catch me and lock me up again; my poor little counterpart's been driven absolutely mad, which has solidified my point." He chuckled triumphantly. Canada gasped when the floor under him gave out. "I've demonstrated that there's no difference between myself and my fellow 'parallel nations' and you and your own counterparts!" Matthew remembered one night where a friendly conversation between fellow nations turned into showing off scars and where each came from. Yao's scars from the Opium Wars; Kiku's burns from the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki; Russia's many scars from the revolution and Stalin's bloody rule; England's scars from the Plague, the Great Fire of London; Spain's from the _Reconquista_ and the civil war... the list was endless...

"All it takes is _one bad day_ to reduce the sanest man or country alive to lunacy." Oliver grunted. "That's how far the world is from where I am... Just _one_ bad day." Canada grasped tightly to the edge, tossing the hockey stick over so he wouldn't lose it in the jagged spikes at the bottom of the trap door. "You had a bad day once; am I right?" Oliver asked in an uncharacteristically sad voice. "I know I am; I can tell." Matthew remembered the War of 1812. "You had a bad day and _everything_ changed." He burned down Alfred's Congress; stabbed his brother in the side when they ran into each other outside. It took _years_ until they talked to each other again. "Why else would you let out all your pent-up aggression with ice hockey? You had a bad day, and it drove you as crazy as us 2P nations... Only you won't admit it!" Matthew grunted as he finally pulled himself out of the pit. "You have to keep pretending that life makes sense, that there's some _valid_ point to all this _struggling!"_ The Canadian picked up his hockey stick and continued to run. "You make me _sick_... I mean, what _is_ it with you nations of this dimension? What makes you all _pretend_? Hell, what made _you_ this way? Arthur banning you from seeing your father France? Alfred fighting against you? Seeing the horrors of the concentration camps in Germany? Something like that, I bet..." Oliver's voice echoed; Matthew was getting annoyed with him. "Something similar happened to me, you know. Not exactly sure what it was that tipped me over, but the point is that I went crazy. I admit that I went crazy once I saw what a horrible joke the world was. So why can't _you_?" Oliver snarled, gasping when the mirror next to him suddenly shattered. Matthew emerged from the large hole in the wall, sending the other a heated glare.

"Because I didn't give up holding onto sanity like you did." He retorted, grabbing the English counterpart and throwing him against another mirror with so much force that he crashed through the wall and landed outside. "Incidentally, I spoke to Arthur before I came in here. He's fine." He stated as he climbed out. Oliver struggled to his knees, glancing back at the Canadian as he licked the blood trickling from the cut on his lip. "Despite your sick and vicious mind games, he's as sane as he ever was." He stated as he walked over. "So maybe people or nations don't always crack." He growled, kicking the syringe Oliver pulled from his coat out of his hand. "Maybe there isn't any need to crawl under a rock with all the other insects when trouble hits..." Matthew grabbed the other by the collar, tightening his grip on his neck. "Maybe it was just you and all the other parallel nations." He snarled before yelping in pain when Oliver landed a punch to his face that made him drop his hockey stick. He let the other go, trying to regain his bearings before his own weapon collided with his head. Matthew cried out in pain, steadying himself on some empty wooden boxes as his head began to spin. He heard the click of a switchblade, and Matthew moved away in time to elbow Oliver in the gut before returning the favor and punching him in the jaw. He panted heavily, watching the other fall into a rather muddy puddle before pushing himself up into a sitting position to face him. Blood trickled from his nose and lip, and the Englishman's ice blue eyes seemed to have dulled down.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" He scoffed, sounding utterly defeated. "I shot your dear little brother. I terrorized the nation that raised you. I even told the counterpart Spain where to find your sister even though I hate him and know how obsessed he is with wanting her as his own... Why don't you kick the hell out of me and be the poster boy for these damn 'parallel nation witch hunts'?" He grumbled sadly, catching his breath as he let the rain wash the mud off his frame.

"Because I'm doing this one by the book." The Canadian answered simply. "And because I don't want to... Also because Lupe and her father handled themselves well against the other Spain..." He added, remembering the conversation he had with his sister while driving to the carnival. She has some cuts on her arms, but was bandaged and on her way with Antonio by the time he had rammed his truck into the front gates. He then sighed. "Do you understand? I don't want to hurt you or the other parallel nations. I don't want any one of us to end up killing the other... But we're all running out of alternatives and everyone knows it... and everyone's afraid of it..." He added sadly. "Maybe it all hinges on tonight. Maybe this is our last chance to sort this whole bloody mess out..." Matthew contemplated as Oliver pushed himself up to his knees. "If you don't take it... if none of the others take it soon... then we'll be locked onto a suicide course. You and Arthur. Me and Matthieu. Antonio and Andres. All of us. To the _death_." He frowned. Police sirens rang in the distance; Canada couldn't help but snort at the rather bad timing. "It doesn't have to end that way. Maybe I... maybe the others, too... we can help. Find a way for you guys to go back home; rehabilitate some of you... We don't have to kill each other doing this. What do you say, Oliver?" He asked, shivering under the rain. Oliver sighed, shaking his head as he stood up.

"No... No, my dear boy. I'm dreadfully sorry, but..." He shook his head. "It's far too late for that... far too late for any of us save for maybe Belarus..." Oliver snorted. "Heh... you know... it's rather humorous, this situation. It reminds me of a joke..." He mused, bloodied lips curling into a sad smile when it seemed that Matthew was going to let him continue. "See, there were these two _wankers_ in a lunatic asylum... and one night they decide that, well, they don't like living in an asylum anymore and decide to escape!" He stated, motioning with his hands as he continued. "And so they get up on the roof, and there, just across this narrow gap, they see the rooftops of the town stretching away in the moonlight... stretching away to _freedom_..." The rain had completely drenched his suit and hair at this point. "The first man jumps right across with no problem whatsoever. But his friend dare not make the leap since he's deathly afraid of falling off. So the first guy has an idea and says 'Hey! I have a _flashlight_ with me! I'll shine it across the gap between the buildings so you can walk across the _beam_ and join me!' The second man, however, shakes his head. He says 'what do you think I am? _Crazy?_ You'd turn it off when I was _halfway across_!'" Oliver finished, snorting before bursting out into laughter. Matthew cracked a smile; the joke was indeed rather funny.

Guadalupe ran down the muddy walkway with Spain right behind her wielding his axe, following the growing laughter as it seemed to echo almost all around her. She skidded to a halt, feeling the mud bunch up against her rain boots as she found her brother laughing, resting a hand on Oliver's shoulder as the Englishman laughed even louder. She felt the Spaniard's hand resting his bandaged hand against her shoulder, knowing he was just as confused as she was with the scene before them. All the while, the rain just continued to pour down and soak everything in its path. Like her bandages, whose bloodstains began to wash off and run down to her fingertips to drop to the soil below.


End file.
